


Which Like Fury Hell Hath No

by redreaper86



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: Jack Sparrow - Rob Kidd
Genre: Barbossa is a BULLY, Fluff and Crack, Funny, Gen, Squabbling, Teasing, Tickle Fights, Young Hector Barbossa - Freeform, Young Jack Sparrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22091455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redreaper86/pseuds/redreaper86
Summary: Before the Black Pearl, there was a teenage pirate named Jack Sparrow...
Relationships: Arabella Smith/Jack Sparrow, Hector Barbossa & Jack Sparrow
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	1. Chaos Reigns at the Sparrows' Nest

Captain Teague was tall, gaunt, and always seemed to be at ease. Even in the midst of chaos he radiated an aura of calm so genuine it was almost frightening. In fact, the more anarchic the situation, the more serene he would become. Take now for instance. 

The large, ramshackle old kitchen in the largest pirate mansion in Shipwreck City was echoing with the clanging of steel, thumping of boots, shouting of profanities and the occasional angry shriek of pain. 

“Aaarrrrggg! Ye demented hussy!” yelled a wizened old pirate lady. “Ye’ve bloodied me clean floors!”

This was Teague’s mother, who was known only by the cognomen of ‘Grandmama.’ Everyone, including her enemies: the King’s Navy, the East India Trading Company, any pirate captain worth his salt, knew her as Captain Grandmama. It was even on her wanted poster. Her opponent, Quick Draw McFlemming, a rotund young woman with a plump, handsome face, shot back:

“Clean? Ha! I’ve seen heads in ships gone a year at sea whose floors I’d sooner eat off of.”

Four small children, two of them boys, two of them girls, all around six years old, were beating up a man whose limbs were so long that looked like he had been stretched out on a torture rack. Valerie the Vicious, a slim teenager, with a smattering of freckles and a long scar, presumably inflicted in a duel, cutting through her mouth, gracing her otherwise strikingly pretty countenance, was battling two middle-aged pirate women, Hazel the Unhinged and Malbatrude the Violent Visionary.

If you had sat them all down and inquired of them in a friendly tone as to why they were doing their utmost to murder one and other, their reasoning would be: “Well, somebody ate the last piece of cake, and I didn’t get any last time, so I was saving it to eat with my tea, but when I went to the larder around four o’ clockish, it was gone! so I very calmly asked such-and-such whether she had gorged on it -- the dozy cow -- and doesn’t she just lie to my face with a mouth covered in icing to boot! then I GOT MAD.”

Observing the pandemonium, Teague resembled a lanky, glittering, brightly-hued spider waiting in the center of his web watching a swarm of flies buzzling just out of reach of his silken threads. His colourless lips were clamped down on a smouldering cigar and his long, boney fingers plucked at the strings of his guitar.

The shriller the noise grew, the harder he pulled at the strings…until one broke. He stood up, pulled out his pistol and shot the ceiling. 

“Eddie, what the f --” gasped Brannigan from the floor. The children had only briefly paused in pummelling him and now resumed the task with double their vigour.

“We’re going on a voyage,” Teague announced.

“Wot, all of us?” McFlemming demanded. 

“Yes, all of you, right now.” Teague snarled, striding through the room towards the door. “I’ll have my men bring the Lady around.”

“But where are we going?” Valerie said. “What are we looking for?”

The door slammed without an answer. There was silence for a beat.

“WOO-HOO!” screeched Grandmama finally. “We are fetching little Jackie back home! About time!” here she scampered off. “I have to pack my throwing stars, my grenades, my bazooka…”


	2. The Crew of the Mighty Barnacle Carry Out a “Mini Mutiny” Against Captain Jack Sparrow

The fiery noonday sun beat down upon the Caribbean Sea, causing its blue-green surface to glitter so dazzlingly that most of the crew of the good ship (tiny fishing boat, really) the _Mighty Barnacle_ to be laid up below decks with splitting headaches.

Fifteen-year-old Captain Jack Sparrow was not one of them, thanks to the heavy coating of kohl eyeliner he wore (applied, more or less faithfully, every Tuesday and Friday), which his fellow captain (chart-man, Jack always amended silently), Hector Barbossa, had hitherto teased him mercilessly about. 

“Now who looks like a burnt-out Tortuga whore, Hector?” Jack looked down at the older youth, who was sprawled on the captain’s bed with a damp cloth on his forehead, with no small amount of smugness. 

A muffled groan, then a subdued cackle. “Still ye.”

“I wouldn’t be making smart remarks, Barbie.” Jack was examining his filthy fingernails with an air of supercilious gravitas, “Especially with your blustering, bellowing self rendered so helpless.”

“Are ye threatening me, Jaaaaaaack?” 

Jack bunched his lips to one side, looking at something on the ceiling. “Not so much threatening you as expressing ominous hints as to what will befall your less-than-lovely hide if you continue to insult my exalted parsonage.”

Hector roared out a laugh which ended in a growl of pain.

“Like that!” Jack said brightly, while Hector cursed roundly in three languages that Jack didn’t recognize but somehow instinctively knew boded no good to him. Heeding that primitive sense of self-preservation that had saved him so many times at home, he darted out of the cabin and none too soon it turned out, as the sufferer was hefting an oil lamp to pitch at him. He slammed the door just in time to hear the crunchy smash reverberate against the heavy wood.

Jack was feeling quite satisfied with himself and was about to say something really witty and cutting, something to the effect of: “Heccy, Heccy, so decrepy, sick abed and still can’t get me,” when a familiar, ringing voice called his name in a rather sharpish and not-to-be-argued-with timbre. 

He whirled round to see Arabella Smith striding towards him. His stomach did a somersault at the sight of her and he had to put a firm hand on it to stop the intense tickling sensation that ensued. 

Auburn curls bouncing, gold hoop earrings swinging, almond brown eyes flashing -- and those only were the attributes of the Barnacle’s first mate that Jack noticed right away. Her face, although delicately formed, was generously speckled with red-gold freckles, with a wide forehead, high cheekbones, pert nose, lissom lips and sharp chin; all of which complemented her sharp, sweet, sardonic personality. A slim, virginal figure had she, and though he hated the fact that she was the same height as him -- five feet, five and a quarter inches -- he sort of liked that they could see eye to eye literally, and he comforted himself that at least she wasn’t taller than him.

“That’s Cap --” Jack began, but as she seized his arm with the grip of a kraken: “Belle, I’ve seen women react this way to my charms before and let me assure you I am very flattered, just a smidge horrified, but mostly flattered --”

“Oh hush, ye daft thing, not that!” said Arabella with that merry, boyish laugh that made Jack rather wish that it had’ve been ‘that.’ “It’s the stones!” she pulled the two marbles out of her apron pocket. They were both glowing brightly, gas-blue and fire-red. “You said they glow when their brothers are near, right?” 

Jack looked at the jewels: the eye of Odin and the blood-drop of Prometheus. There were seven beads in the Necklace of Morgan la Fey, each a colour of the rainbow. He wondered what other parts of deities the rest of them contained. He hoped nothing too gross.

“Land ho!” yelled the lookout, Bill Turner, or Bloody Billy as Jack had dubbed him. Not because he was bloodthirsty or anything, far from it. In fact, the sobriquet could be rather ironic if it was related to that, because Bill would let a swarm of blow flies eat him alive before squashing even one. No, he had been christened Bloody Billy because he had just been whipped bloody by a plantation owner back in Barbados, where he was serving as a slave, when Jack first met him.

Everyone else, however, called him Bootstrap for no specific reason, which Jack found stupid. He found it particularly idiotic when Bill informed him that it was Arabella who started the trend.

When he did ask her: “Why Bootstrap?” she had replied (much, much too dreamily, Jack thought): “Because no matter how many hardships fall his way he always picks himself up by his bootstraps.”

Jack sneered. “How do _you_ know? You just met the bloke.”

Arabella shrugged. “He told me.” she said simply.

Then Jack had _really_ hated that nickname. And its owner as well, when it came right down to it. Bill just had this perpetually defeated air about him that set Jack’s teeth on edge. And those sappy, soulful grey eyes that were constantly staring into the distance as if he was composing poetry or something. It was bloody annoying!

Anyway…Jack thought he better get back to captaining before ol’ Hector started feeling -- perish the thought -- well again. 

“Right, you lice-ridden curs,” Jack began heartily, than caught Arabella’s sharp glance, “I mean, you nice, clean doggies…” he looked at Arabella for approval which she granted him in the form of a irrepressible grin. 

“Unfurl the sails, full canvas!” he shouted, trying to remember all the lines The-Man-Who-Might-Be-Dad had roared out while sailing the Misty Lady. “Make fast for that island, mates! As though the Kraken itself were behind us!”

The crew obeyed with little to no enthusiasm. Most of them had just rolled out of their hammocks a few minutes ago. 

Jack sighed. His captaining skills, he realized with a pang, still had a ways to go. Then Bill Turner’s voice rang out again:

“Ship ho!” 

“Language, Bill!” Jack shouted back at him, having misheard what he said.

A few seconds passed, next Bill shouted again: “Boat ho!”

Jack’s eyes widened and he scrambled onto the balustrade, took out his old rusty spyglass and surveyed the sea. There was indeed a ‘boat’ on the horizon, Jack could see her profile. It was actually a ship, a Blackwall frigate to be exact, with snow-white sails. Jack knew this ship and, more importantly, knew her captain. With any luck, she would not see them. Only…Jack shouldn’t have thought that, because fate, destiny, or some other bad-tempered wench decided to mess with him; the ship turned and commenced to pursue the Barnacle. Jack had just enough time to take his scope from his eye with what he hoped was an air of stoic determination just like the really great captains he had read about --

\-- when what felt like a pair of talons seized his waist: a sensation both painfully ticklish and highly disturbing, thereby causing Jack to unleash an unmanly squeal and drop his telescope over the side. 

Red in the face from both rage and good-old-fashioned embarrassment, Jack whipped around to face the culprit. “I thought you and your rotten carcass were mouldering in bed,” he declared with deep disappointment.

“We were,” Hector said, his hitherto surly demeanour so cheerful that Jack began to doubt whether his rival had been sick at all, “but then I heard Master Turner say there was a ship out there and if the Barnacle is to go to battle with said ship, I have to be out here directing this circus of a crew who probably haven’t been in so much as a slap-fight --” (here several of the pirates shot him hurt looks) “-- I mean, this exceptionally intelligent and well-managed crew who likely have loads of life-experience fighting.” Hector added, rolling his eyes. 

“You made me drop my telescope,” Jack snapped, gesturing at the rail behind him. “So, by the Pirate Code, you have to give me yours.”

Hector laughed uproariously. “Now, Jack, that was your own ticklish self as lost that spyglass, an’ if yer that squeamish ye have no business captaining a ship, much less commanding a crew in the face of a sea-battle!” 

Jack had just opened his mouth to relay a properly scathing retort, when Bill interrupted again:

“They’ve raised their colours!…THEY’RE PIRATES!” 

Jack was already in a black mood, what with Hector not, in fact, bedridden, but up and about and once again annoying the grog out of Jack in true Barbossa-fashion. So he really cannot be blamed too much for yelling at Bill for just doing his job as the lookout: 

“Oh for Triton’s sake, Turner!” Jack finally exploded, “Get down here when you talk to your captain; it’s incredibly RUDE, you know, and DISRESPECTFUL, to just bellow down the mast like that!”

“That’s his _job_ , Jack!” Arabella yelled from the wheel. “What would you _have_ him do?” 

Jack sighed as though he were dealing with a very dumb child who didn’t understand the subtleties of life on a ship. “Um, I don’t know, Belle, maybe climb down the ratlines and tell me calmly like a normal person would?”

“A normal person wouldn’t!” Arabella snapped, exasperated. “Ach, yer just impossible, Jack.”

Hector was rocking back on his heels, enjoying the spectacle immensely. “Aye, that he is,” he said. “But ye can’t blame him, Miss Smith, after all he’s just a wee lad. No where near mature enough to be a captain --”

“You better shut up!” Jack snarled, clenching his fists.

“Or _what_?” Hector sneered. “You’ll stomp yer little foot and burst into tears?”

Jack did one better: he charged at Hector, head-butting the much older youth in the stomach, toppling him over onto the deck where they both fell to scuffling, fisticuffs and all manner other of un-captain-like conduct.

“Fight!” shouted Pintel, his round, ugly face alight with childlike joy. The rest of the crew gathered round eagerly, echoing that same word, placing wagers and cheering on the two opponents.

As he grappled with his rival, Jack wondered whether it was such a good idea to have gotten into this predicament. Sure, he was holding his own, despite Hector being the bigger of the two -- (Jack always was a wiry little fellow; he’d had to be, growing up in Shipwreck Cove, which was basically Pirate Metropolis) -- but the thing was, Jack didn’t really like to fight, at least not physically, whereas Hector seemed to live for it. 

Right now, Jack had a tentative upper hand: he had hold of Hector’s throat and was throttling him, plus, while the other pirate was gasping for air, trying to peel Jack’s hands away, the watching crew was counting down from ten. If Jack managed to hold Hector down until they got to one, he would get to be the one and only captain -- Captain Jack Sparrow. (God, he just loved the sound of it.)

“…nine, eight, seven…”

“Stop it, Jack!” cried Arabella, wringing the corners of her apron in consternation. “He can’t breathe!”

It was true. Hector’s eyes, which were of a hue that his face now matched, were starting to bulge. Jack wished the crew would hurry up counting already -- but only because he would be the only captain faster, not that he cared about Hector or anything. He did loosen his grip on his enemy’s throat, just a little.

“…six, five, four…”

Just then, Hector took both his hands away from his throat where they had been trying to remove Jack’s crushing hold and instead buried his own fingers into the ribs of his nemesis. Jack squawked, ceased strangling Hector to clamp his arms down against his sides, effectively trapping Hector’s hands there, where they wreaked yet more havoc on Jack’s ultra-sensitive ribs. With Jack thus weakened, Hector easily flipped him over and pinned him to the deck.

Arabella was now worried for Jack’s well-being. “Master Barbossa, t’be certain, Jack didn’t mean to --”

“Oh yes, I think he very much did,” replied Hector, having to raise his voice to be heard over Jack’s squeals and curses. “Didn’t you now, Jaaaaack? But then ye chickened out an’ loosened yer grip. Some pirate you are! Ha, ha!” As he roared with laughter, the sycophantic crew and Jack (albeit involuntarily) howled along with him. 

Arabella clutched a fistful of her hair, feeling like the only adult on board. A pirate ship was chasing them down and the two ‘captains,’ not to mention the crew, were all behaving like a bunch of rowdy schoolchildren. 

Jack, in throes of silent mirth, was trying to articulate the single word that would end this torture…

“Jack be tryin’ t’say somethin’!” Hector crowed to the crowd, all of whom jeered on cue. “I wonder what it could be. He seems t’be havin’ trouble in the tellin,’ though, mateys, so I be needin’ yer help decipherin’ his speech.”

Ragetti’s one bulgy eye lit up. “Whatever it is, it starts with a ‘p’!” he exclaimed. 

The crew began to guess different words that began with ‘p,’ no matter how odd or out of place they were, such as ‘perpendicular,’ and ‘parsnip.’

“P-p-please?” Hector mocked. “Please what? Please tickle you some more?” here he leaned forward, his blue eyes glittering merrily into Jack’s horrified brown ones. “Well, if ye say so…”

“I don’t say so!” Jack shrieked, squirming around in an eel-like fashion. “I most emphatically say not so! Pickle!”

“Nay.” said Hector, grinning. 

“Propitious!” Jack tried.

“Not even close.” 

“Parallelogram!” 

“No!” said Hector, laughing outright. “Face it, Jack, yer just gonna have to take your medicine…”

“Belle, help me!” wailed Jack, as Hector waggled his long black fingernails before his eyes to demonstrate what was coming next. “You of all people should know that word --”

That had been the wrong way to phrase it. Arabella immediately went on the defensive: “And what is that supposed to mean, Jack Sparrow! Are ye callin’ me a PIRATE?” 

Jack looked at Hector, hopeful that that last ‘p’ word had been the right one. The smug smirk on Hector’s face told him otherwise.

Jack groaned in complete and total misery, only to squeal at a much higher decibel as his foe’s fingers descended upon him again, this time to scrabble at his neck, one of his worst spots. “UUURRRGGGHHH!!!” Jack gurgled, shrugging up his shoulders, then bringing up his arms to cover his neck --

\-- when he felt them grabbed and pinned to the deck under a pair of knees. Arabella’s pretty face came into his view, upside-down.

“Pirate.” Jack said to her.

Arabella graced him with one of her beautiful grins. “Master Barbossa,” she said, leaning forward to Hector as though conveying a great secret. “Try his tummy.”

Jack gave a wordless squeak of outrage (and mild admiration) at his first mate’s betrayal, next he screamed with laughter as all ten of Hector’s long, dexterous fingers plunged into Jack’s belly, where the former soon discovered something else to taunt the latter about:

“Ooh, soft!” Hector cooed, with all the saccharine playfulness of a doting mother teasing her cute baby. “Somebody’s been having too many sweetmeats and not enough sword-fighting practice! Ketchie-ketchie-koo!”

There was such a chorus of merriment at this latest jape that Jack flinched, half from the loudness of it, half from the cruelty of it. He was reminded of how most of his family treated him -- how Teague treated him: as though he were a doll: cute to look at, fun to play with, but ultimately foolish and useless. But he expected that out of his relatives. Not his crew. Not Arabella. He writhed some more, swearing unprintable oaths between giggles, which of course only succeeded in increasing the amusement of his tormentors tenfold.

Between Arabella fluttering her fingertips into Jack’s armpits and Hector scritchie-scratching his jagged fingernails all over Jack’s stomach, even the ruddy prison-dog coming over and doing its part in tormenting Jack, via licking his bare feet -- Jack was a hair’s breadth away from throwing up, wetting himself, passing out, or all three combined when Ragetti (bless his one-eyed, malnourished heart!) had an epiphany.

“Parlay!” he cried. 

Jack silently pointed his forefinger upwards as though Ragetti had just won at charades.

Hector and Arabella took their hands off of Jack at once, stopping their torture of him as though someone had pointed a gun at them. 

The prison-dog ceased licking Jack’s feet and sat at attention.

The crew all dispersed about the ship again, grumbling now that their show was over.

Jack just lay there, his entire person disheveled, staring vacantly upward, drooling a little. 

The sound of clapping rang out at the port side, causing everyone to whip their heads around to the source of the sound, to be met with a sight that nearly gave them all heart attacks. 

A pirate was standing on the balustrade, leaning against the ratlines, clapping his hands. The man was smallish; he couldn’t have been more than five feet seven inches and underneath his heavy green velvet coat he was scrawny. But he did have thick curly black hair, rings worth a king’s ransom adorning every finger, and a pair of big brown puppy-dog eyes edged in kohl that were blatantly familiar.

Jack gave the pirate a tired but delighted smile from where he lay sprawled on the deck. 

“’Ello, Uncle Jack.”


	3. The Crew of the Mighty Barnacle Comes Across a Not-So-Lonely Island

The crew watched as the pirate, supposedly named ‘Jack,’ apparently also their Jack’s uncle, hopped lightly off the rail and sashayed over to his prone nephew.

“Jackie-boy!” he cried, with a big grin. “How are you, lad?”

“As well as can be expected,” Jack shrugged feebly from the floor. “Considering my first mate and my chart-man just led a mutiny against me.”

“Oh, please!” Hector scoffed. “We did nothin’ of the sort. And for your information, I be the co-captain.” 

“All we did was have a bit of fun with ye, Jack!” said Arabella, laughing at him. “Ye know you loved it.” 

Jack folded his arms across his chest like a pouty child. 

Hector poked him in the side with the toe of his boot.

Arabella ignored them both, turning her attention to the newcomer on board:

“Good sir,” said she. “How, may I ask, did you come to board this vessel so quickly when your ship is still so far away?” 

Uncle Jack smiled indulgently at her. “My ‘ship,’ as you call it,” he said, “is right beside this one. I rowed out from the island.” 

Arabella frowned and looked over the side. Sure enough there was a dingy with oars bobbing beside the Barnacle.

“Oh, I thought you were from the pirate ship that’s chasing us,” Arabella said, laughing at her own theory. “I thought maybe you had a magic item that teleported you…um, it’s silly…”

“No, no, no, not at all,” Uncle Jack assured her. “Actually, me brother has a ring like that -- he’s the captain of the ship what’s chasing you -- it works wonders for getting people out of --”

“ _What_ did you say?” Arabella stepped back, stunned. Behind her, Jack had sprang to his feet and was waving his arms at his uncle. It was Jack-speak, translating directly to: “Shut up now, savvy?!” But Uncle Jack didn’t, or refused to, get the memo. He let the proverbial cat out of the bag; everything Jack had been keeping a secret for the past few months was now dragged into the open in one fell swoop.

“So let me get this straight,” Arabella stated in a would-be calm voice. “Jack’s father is a pirate. And not just any pirate. The Keeper of the Bloody Code?” she turned to Jack. “When were ye going to tell me this?”

“Erm,” Jack gave her his biggest, smarmiest grin, “Now don’t be cross with me, Belle; I was thinking sometime around, well, lets see, it’s June now…” he pretended to calculate, then shrugged. “Never. I was never going to tell you, Belle. Savvy?”

* * *

Two hours later, the crew was tromping through the jungle and Arabella still wasn’t speaking to Jack. Truth be told, he preferred that to yelling or slapping. Maybe the silent treatment worked on mushy types like ye ol’ Bill, but Jack preferred keeping his eardrums intact and his cheeks un-stinging, thank you very much. Instead he was chatting with his uncle about which they would prefer: a beating that lasted five hours or a disembowelment that lasted five minutes. 

“Disembowelment!” Jack said at once, having been on the receiving end of a stout switch more times than he cared to count.

“Bah!” his uncle scoffed, waving a grimy hand to demonstrate his disgust. “That’s way too vanilla for me.”

“Uncle Jaaa-ack!” Jack groaned as they stomped along through tropical foliage. “Can you not?”

“I’m not even that bad, Jackie.” his uncle insisted. “You should see some of the freaks they have in Charenton! During my time in said lunatic asylum, I met this French bloke, name of de Sade -- an aristo -- seems the kinky ones always are. Looked a bit like Barbossa over there.” He pointed at Hector who was too far ahead to hear, then leaned in close to whisper in Jack’s ear. “Let me tell you, the Marquis could make the Devil himself cry fer his mum, so imagine the state I was in after one session with him --”

“Oh-my-god-shut-up-you’re-so-gross!” cried Jack, stopping his ears with his fingers. 

“Fine!” his uncle rolled his eyes. “Wanna hear the one about the skeleton?” 

“Yes, yes, please.” Jack had heard all of Uncle Jack’s lame jokes at least twice, but anything was preferable to this particular conversation.

As his uncle began telling the joke, Jack began to tune him out and think of the crisis figuratively before him, literally behind him, namely the pirate ship choc-full of his scurrilous, conniving, downright nasty relatives. 

Jack had always wished he could trade in some of them. Now he amused himself deciding, if given the choice, which ones he would keep, which ones he would scrap and who he would pick in their place.

He would definitely be keeping his Uncle Jack, weird preferences and all. He wasn’t so sure about The-Man-Who-Probably-Is-Dad; he was forever changing his mind about him. Jack figured Teague could stay his father for the time being until he changed his mind; after all, he did get Jack out of a lot of scrapes but always mocked and reprimanded him for getting into said scrapes. The rest of them could go to Davy Jones’s Locker, for all Jack cared.

Now for the fun part, Jack thought, looking around at his crew as they stepped over roots, brushed past vines and slashed through greenery. 

Pintel and Ragetti and Mullroy and Murtogg were squabbling amongst themselves as usual. Jack decided he could tolerate them as his cousins; when he only had to see them at Christmastide and such. They certainly would be a sight better than that harpy of a Valerie. 

Jack watched as Bill held Arabella by the arm when her foot got caught in a pothole so that she wouldn’t fall. Bill, Jack wasn’t so sure about. He sort of liked him, when he wasn’t mooning over Arabella that is. Which was almost never, but still. Bill could be his mild-mannered older brother whom Jack liked to pick on. Which was sort of true.

Jack smirked as Arabella forced a smile at Bill and pointedly withdrew her arm when she had rescued her foot. He didn’t want to be related to Arabella. He wanted to be able to…have leeway, as it were. She could be the lass-next-door-who-eventually-falls-for-the-hero -- him, Jack. She would certainly be a lot better than that horrid Esmeralda, a pudgy Spanish brat who was always beating him up. She was one of those feminist wenches, who took offence at silly things, like if you called her a ‘wench.’ It was what she was, Jack had told her, even as she throttled him. Needless to say, that statement hadn’t mollified her. 

Arabella hurried ahead of Bill and caught up with Hector who was plucking a tiny red frog off a tree trunk with a pair of tweezers. She rooted in her leather satchel, fishing out a glass mason jar, took off the lid and proffered it to him. He stuck the frog in and she twisted the lid on. She held the jar up to the sun and they both watched the light shine through the frog’s translucent body, throwing them both into ruby shadows. Then she handed him the jar and he put it in his coat pocket. Jack wasn’t jealous of their relationship at all, not that it wasn’t enviable. They had the camaraderie of siblings, they would never be romantically inclined, they were far too alike: both intelligent, sarcastic and headstrong.

That gave Jack his idea for Hector; he wouldn’t be related to him either. He could be his bestest mate in the whole world, someone who would go to hell and back for him but still get so annoyed with him that he would chase him around the ship for hours only to let him off with something mild when he caught him, like tossing him over his shoulder and threatening to drop him overboard, but never really doing it. Come to think of it, Hector hadn’t ever truly harmed him, no matter how mad he got at Jack, which was more than Jack could say about some of his real family members.

Jack glanced around at his motley crew. He was sure he could take Teague and all his dangerous relatives if his own little makeshift family was on his side.

He was later to mentally kick himself for being so cheerfully naïve.

Because, several hours later, long past midnight, when Jack, his uncle, his co-captain, his first mate, and the rest of his motley crew, had all made camp in a clearing that Uncle Jack had been living in for a few weeks, all fast asleep…

…who should all come blasting through the palm trees, whooping like maniacs, swinging cutlasses and pistols about, but The-Man-Who-Most-Likely-Is-Dad, his crew of nasty cutthroats and nastier relatives.

The sleepers all shot to their feet, whipping out their own swords and guns; all except Uncle Jack, who merely rolled over onto his side, mumbling: “Keep it down, would ya?” 

The full moon illuminated everybody to a ghostly shade of silvery-white. Jack even saw Bill cross himself. He rolled his eyes, turned to Arabella, to say something to the effect of: “You sure can pick ‘em, Belle,” when he was seized bodily under the arms, flung over a shoulder to see the flapping, velvety red fabric of a very familiar coat.

“Well, bugger me sideways,” Jack groused, earning himself a sharp swat upon his upraised bottom.

“Watch your mouth, Jackie,” snapped Teague, for it was indeed he from whom the swat originated and whose shoulder it was that Jack was draped over, “There are ladies present and I raised ye to be a gentleman.”

“Bollocks you did.” Jack retorted, sounding braver than he felt. “You raised me to be a filthy pirate, so that’s what I’m doing.”

Teague laughed uproariously as did the rest of his family members and crew, who had surrounded Jack’s own crew, pointing pistols, swords blunderbusses and daggers at them. 

“Some pirate crew,” Grandmamma was sneering from beside Teague. “All I see is a scrawny barmaid, a doleful-eyed whelp, four bumbling buffoons, an old coot, a gigantic blackamoor and…and…” -- here her string of insults against the crew of the Barnacle faltered -- “…hel-lo, sailor!” 

Jack craned his neck to see who the unlucky object of his grandmother’s desire was. And he wasn’t disappointed. 

For the old pirate lady had darted up to and subsequently latched onto the very much repulsed personage of Hector Barbossa.


	4. Jack Has An Unwanted Family Reunion and Hector Gets An Abhorrent Admirer

“Don’t be _shy_ , me pretty lad,” Grandmamma had purposely ignored her victim’s expression of terrified disgust and wrapped one boney arm around his waist whilst tenderly chucking him under the chin with the other. “Granny’ll take care of ye, oh yes she will…”

Hector cringed away as much as he could, his arms held out at his sides as though he were covered in a vile substance (which, in a way, he was) but he didn’t dare try anything else. The wizened old pirate lady was bristling with so many pistols, daggers, grenades and throwing stars, that she was practically more weapons than woman.

Jack looked away from the scene, which was as tragic as it was comic, for fear he might laugh or throw up. Either one would be ill-advised at this point. As he did his gaze brushed the ground, and he saw a deep shimmering green that was no plant or jungle undergrowth. It was the third bead of the Necklace.

Jack cleared his throat, grunted and gesticulated wildly at the ground all from atop Teague’s shoulder.

“Jackie, what is your bloody problem?!” the Keeper demanded. 

“I feel sick, Daddy,” Jack declared in a childlike voice. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

Teague, in a spectacular display of paternal care, all but flung Jack onto the ground leaping back from him a suitable three feet for good measure. “There you go, son,” he said, with over-affected concern all the while examining the sleeve of his fine velvet coat (making sure there was no upchuck on it, no doubt). 

Jack performed a barrel-roll, picking up the green stone as he did, then when he was on his feet he shot a reproachful look at Teague. 

“What?” Teague asked, his palms facing upward in a defensive gesture. What could I do, Jackie? he seemed to be saying. It was you or my coat. I had to make a judgement call.

Shaking his head in disgust, Jack turned to Arabella and passed her the shiny round rock which she immediately stowed in her apron pocket.

Hector turned to his ancient captor. “I’m gonna throw up too,” he said hopefully.

“’Tis alright, child,” Grandmama said, laying her grizzled head on his shoulder. “I don’t mind a bit o‘ sick.”

Now Hector looked like he really was about to vomit. Jack shuddered. The only thing he could imagine was worse than his bloodthirsty grandmother’s beatings was her romantic attentions. That was when Jack decided he had to figure out a way to save his best mate from becoming that horrible woman’s…ugh, he didn’t even what to think about what. Jack remembered his favourite story from the bible about the whelp and the giant (his aunt, Quick Draw McFlemming had read him stories from the Good Book when he was just a wee lad); young Davy had thrown a stone at the great oaf’s head and killed him instantly. Not that Jack wanted to kill his grandma; just knock her out. His fingers closed round a chain connected to an object that he always kept with him, he raised this item by this string, swung it round his head, once, twice, thrice. Then let go.

A whistling sound, the delicate chain glittering as the thing sailed through the air turning end over end until -- THOCK!

Jack’s magic compass, the one that didn’t point north but pointed to whatever the person holding it wanted most in the world, hit Grandmamma right between her beady lust-filled eyes and she promptly keeled over like a felled evergreen, out cold. A little monkey scrambled over her prone form, screeched obnoxiously, then grabbed the compass and scurried back into the forest.

Everyone burst out shouting and cursing at once, or rather, Teague and his crew did that, Jack and his crew ran for the ship. Jack led the way, arms flailing, legs pumping, screaming the entire time. He was aware of feet thumping beside him and knew it was his own crew. Teague and the rest wouldn’t leave without Grandmamma and it would take a few minutes to hoist her over Ace Brannigan’s shoulder.

“Thankyee, Jaaaaaack,” Hector was running alongside him now, and there was real gratitude in his deep nasally voice.

“You’re welcome!” Jack shouted back, in a splendiferous mood. He had finally hit that nasty old hag back. He had always wanted to do that! “And, Hector?”

“Aye?”

“That’s Captain Jack Sparrow!”

Hector barked with laughter. But unlike earlier today he was laughing with Jack, not at him. “Aye, aye, Captain Jack Sparrow!” he yelled.

Jack could see the lights of his beloved Barnacle shining through the trees. He crashed out of the jungle and could see the Misty Lady, his Dad’s Blackwall frigate with the red hull and the white sails and the black jolly roger atop the mizzenmast. What a pretty ship she was. Much, much better than the decrepit old fishing boat he’d been sailing around in. 

Jack smiled a slow, self-satisfied smile. “Hector!” cried he, “Which one is our ship?”

The rest of the crew clamoured about; even Arabella was shrilling annoyingly that of course the Barnacle was their ship, are ye daft, Jack? But as he turned to his co-captain whom he had just saved from a fate very much worse than death, he saw his crafty grin reciprocated. Next there was a shrill screech -- a screech that was to soon plague Jack’s dreams -- and a monkey swung like a tiny demon from the jungle brush to land on Hector’s shoulder. Then the creature held the magic compass it stole out to Jack like it wasn’t a gross little thieving primate. Jack snatched his compass away and opened it up. Yep. The arrow was pointing right at the Misty Lady.

“TO THE MISTY LADY!”

To the Misty Lady they all went. 

_Captains’ Log_

_Hola, Captains’ Log. Jack here. Captain Jack. Sparrow, that is. Not Teague. Speaking of The-Man-Who-Most-Definitely-Is-Dad, I stole his ship and marooned him and my whole family on a deserted island. Well, not my whole family. Uncle Jack came with us, he joined me crew as quarter master. The rest of my family can’t even follow me on the Barnacle, because in a single broadside from me new ship, I reduced it to kindling. I just hope no one is dumb enough to rescue that ’orrible lot._

_Hector still is sharing the title, duties and cabin of ‘Captain’ with me, and it’s worse than ever because he now has a pet monkey he’s named Polly. I says to him, I says: “Hector, you name parrots Polly not monkeys,” and he was all: “Arrrg, don’t tell me what to do, Jaaaaack,” and I was all: “I saved you from becoming Grandmamma’s concubine, Heccy,” then he -- you’ll never guess what that ungrateful little cur did next, Log. Go on, guess. I know, it was so treacherous, so downright…pirate-y...it would make your blood boil if you had any._

_He sicced his sodding monkey on me! It chased me all around the cabin for a good quarter of an hour all the while Hector laughed his boney arse off. Bloody pirate! I swear._

_But I put my boot down about where that nasty little primate slept. Hector wanted to bring it into the bed we both have to share, but I convinced him to put it in the underwear drawer instead. He’s tucking it underneath a huge pair of Grandmamma’s bloomers, which are pink with purple spots. Heccy probably has no idea how close he came to seeing those hideous undies on an even hideouser carcass. A fate from which I saved him. But what thanks does ol’ Captain Jack Sparrow get? I ask you._

_Anyway, I better get into bed so I can have the starboard side. Hector’s always trying to steal it…_

_Captain Jack Sparrow_

_Captains’ Log_

_Jack’s finally asleep, on the bloody starboard side of the bed no less! He knows I be captain of that side! Oh, well, I’ll just roll him over to the port side once I’m done writing in ye._

_We stole the Keeper’s ship. There’s nothing in the Code that outlaws stealing its Keeper’s vessel, though I expect Teague will write it in there as soon as he escapes the island we marooned him and his crew on. Teague is Jack’s father, and his crew are all related in some way to him as it turns out. The hellacious crone that is Jack’s grandmother (though she looks old enough to be his great grandmother) took a shine t’ me, an’ started pawin’ at me an’ lookin’ me over like I was a prize pig or somethin’. I mean, I was tryin’ t’ be polite, being a gentleman o’ fortune an’ all, not to mention the fact that she stood a foot taller’n me an’ outweighed me by a good four stone._

_But then Jack threw his compass at her and knocked her out and I’ve never liked Jack Sparrow but I was ready t’ fall at his feet and worship him fer savin’ me from that hag’s lecherous attentions._

_O’ course, I can’t be lettin’ him know that._

_Captain Hector Barbossa_

_PS. I got meself a monkey. Her name be Polly._

_PPS. I’m hungry. I’m gonna go below deck to see if there be any apples._

_PPPS. There was apples! They’re all gone now, though. I ate the whole bushel of ’em. They’d just rot otherwise. Oh, and I brought up a bottle of rum fer Jack. I really am grateful to the lad fer savin’ me from that…thing, even if I don’t act like it_.


End file.
